


Harry Potter Prompts

by AliceWasNotDreaming



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Crying Draco Malfoy, Denial of Feelings, F/M, Falling In Love, First Kiss, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-16
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-28 05:58:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15701247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliceWasNotDreaming/pseuds/AliceWasNotDreaming
Summary: A prompt list about characters from the Wizarding World. (Which is kind of obvious but still...)





	1. List of chapters

**Author's Note:**

> The prompts are selected randomly, and so are the characters for each chapter. 
> 
> (I selected the prompts by closing my eyes and pointing to a random word in my Harry Potter books xDxD completely ridiculous)
> 
> Writing this is quite fun. Hope you'll enjoy it cuz I'm certainly enjoying myself ~~~ *\\(^o^)/*

Chapters

2\. Spy : Albus Dumbledore on the virtues of Severus Snape. (mentioned one-sided Severus Snape/Lily Evans)

3\. Wheel : George Weasley mourns his fallen twin.

4\. Might : 'Magic is might' - Hermione thinks it is utterly rubbish. (mentioned Ron Weasley/Hermione Granger)

5\. Problem : Draco had a problem named Hermione Granger. (one-sided Draco Malfoy/Hermione Granger)

6\. Peer : The unexpected results of peering into his dormitory. (Blaise Zabini/Draco Malfoy)

7\. Light : Gellert Grindelwald coveted Albus Dumbledore's light. (Gellert Grindelwald/Albus Dumbledore)


	2. Spy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the end Severus was so much better than he, because Severus had one thing he never had.

Albus had never approved of the Dark Arts.

Some argued that magic was a tool, like a knife, without good or evil, but he disagreed. Dark magic had only one purpose - to cause misery and pain, whether by killing, mutilating or torturing. He had always believed those who blindly coveted this forbidden fruit for its power were pitiable fools. And those who used it - they were truly abominable. 

This idea had only been reinforced when Gellert Grindelwald, his once friend, became an infamous Dark Wizard second only to his successor Lord Voldemort. 

So it was only natural that when students firmly believing in the Dark Arts came along he looked at them askance. 

Severus Snape was one such. Despite his less than impressive appearance Albus instantly sensed the power and capacity for greatness in him. He had hoped, for a short while, that the Slytherin would prove to be an asset in the war against Voldemort, but those hopes had been dashed when he displayed an unusually fervent passion for dark magic.

A small part of him had still prayed that Lily Evans, Severus' only true friend, would intervene and turn him from falling deeper into the pit from which there was no return. But then the two fell apart in their fifth year, and Albus had to admit that at that time he gave Severus up as lost. The boy was just too bitter, too cynical and too full of hatred for saving. Or so Albus thought. 

Thinking back on it, if everyone had a fatal flaw this must be his - prejudice. He had to admit, with no small amount of shame, that he had always been prejudiced against the Slytherins. The House of Snakes was notorious for nurturing Dark Wizards, and subconsciously the Headmaster had always gazed at the Slytherins with uneasiness, wondering if he might be staring at one of Voldemort's future Death Eaters or even Voldemort's successor. His mistrust had given rise to unfairness - treating them with less cordialness, deliberately turning a blind eye when they were bullied, always siding automatically with any other house except Slytherin whenever conflicts arose. 

He often wondered if it was his stigma that led to Voldemort's rise. Could he have done better? Could he have helped Tom Riddle somehow, if he had bothered to make effort? Albus was sometimes struck with the guilty thought that he was responsible for the rise of both Grindelwald and Voldemort. It was not pleasant to contemplate. 

But Albus had been lucky the third time. 

It was cruel and wicked, was it not, to say that Lily's death was fortunate? There was no denying, though, that it had turned the tide of the war. If it were not for her being threatened, Severus Snape would not have come back to the light side. He might have risen to be just as powerful and ruthless and dangerous as Voldemort, if it were not for Lily's death.

As it were, they had been that - lucky. For when Severus Snape turned spy for the sake of Lily Potter they had gained a formidable ally without whom the war against Voldemort would have been lost. 

Albus remembered the man's letter to him, begging him for a private audience. He remembered the man's haggard, tortured face as he confessed what he had done, how his folly might mean Lily's life. Albus had both pitied the man and despised him then - pitied him, because of his love and the remorse he must be feeling; despised him, because he was selfish and did not care for anything, not even the world itself,  except that one person. 

(Pitying Severus for his love - that was both wise and foolish. Love was terrible, yes, but love was also the greatest treasure in the entire world.)

But gradually he had begun to respect Severus. This was someone with feelings, he remembered thinking suddenly as he watched Severus sob at the news of Lily's death. This was not 'a Death Eater' or 'a spy' or 'a Slytherin'. This was just a man. A human being, like him, who could feel as well as any other.

He treated Severus differently after that revelation. And he was rewarded by more and more of his humanity being revealed - no more than mere flashes, of course, but the humanity was there, all right. He saw Severus' face flicker with barely suppressed emotion every time a Slytherin mentioned the damning word 'mudblood', saw his fleeting wistful, sad glance whenever Lily was mentioned in a conversation, saw him silently mourning Lily every Halloween, even after more than a decade had passed.

Sometimes Albus truly thought that Severus, despite his many faults, was a much better man than he. Because Severus had love, a love that he held on to despite the pain and the heartache, a love he would continue to hold on to come what may. But Albus - could he claim the same? If Albus was asked who he loved with all his heart and soul he would not have been able to answer. Despite knowing that love was at once great, powerful and terrible, could Albus truly grasp what love was, the way Severus had grasped it without even trying?

He had once considered Severus selfish for loving one woman and not caring one whit for the world. But when he compared his own grandiose ideologies about 'the greater good' to Severus' simple, truthful, unwavering love, he thought Severus might be the one with more humanity and goodness, after all. 

And all of Albus' inspiring, righteous speeches about goodness combined could never, in the end, hold a candle to the simple 'always' that Severus had uttered.


	3. Wheel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He supposed he should have expected something bad to happen someday. But not this - no, never this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wheel (n) : an imaginary turning wheel symbolizing the inconstancy of fortune
> 
> (This shows that a dictionary is really helpful when you don't know what to do with a prompt (/"≡ _ ≡)=)
> 
> ***
> 
> It's been a long day  
> Without you, my friend   
> And I'll tell you all about it   
> When I see you again 
> 
> \- Wiz Khalifa 'See You Again'

George Weasley would never have considered himself superstitious in any way.

But looking back, he could not help but feel that he should have expected something bad to happen to him, something really goddamn awful. Because he had been so lucky all his life. He had been born into a loving family. He had been born with a twin, a natural companion, closer than most brothers. He had five other awesome siblings. He had been born with brains and humour and charm. He had got into the best wizarding school in the entire world. He had found a second home in said school. He had met many wonderful friends. He had never had any serious illnesses, injuries, or setbacks in his life. He had always been cheerful and happy, despite his poverty.

He was so damned lucky he should have known the fortune would have turned one day.

The Chinese believed in feng shui. They said the wheels of fortune were always turning, that one could not predict the rise and falls in life. One thing, though, was certain - no one can have all rises and no falls. No one.

Fred and George had never paid any attention to these superstitions before, except to jest about them. Now George wished they had. Then maybe he could have been more prepared for what was about to come.

('Lying to yourself again, George?' he could hear his dead twin tease in his mind. 'You know you could never, ever be prepared for my death.')

When you lost a twin it was like you lost a part of your heart and soul, you felt so bewildered that every day seemed to be a terrifying nightmare. You would spot something funny on the streets and turn your head to joke about it with your twin, and then you would discover with confusion and despair that he was not there anymore, would never be there anymore. The twin brother you loved so much, the twin brother you had never spent a day apart from - gone. Just like that. 

George wished fervently and sincerely that it could have been him who had died. It was selfish of him, but he did not want to bear this agony anymore. He could not think he could bear it - this living death, this hopeless, tortuous, never-ending nightmare. 

If this was a joke played on them by some deity it was truly cruel and heartless. The previous joy did not compensate for the loss - the lost happiness only served to accentuate the heartbreak. 

If there truly was a wheel of fortune it was surely malfunctioning, to only give him nineteen short years of bliss and then condemn him to a lifetime of suffering. 

If his luck had to turn that let it turn - take something away from him, his remaining ear, all his limbs, anything - but not this! Not Fred! By God, anything but Fred!

Because he knew that even if someday he found a wife, children and his own family - he would never be complete again. There would always be a part of him, behind the smiles and the jokes, that cried out unceasingly for the twin that he had lost forever.


	4. Might

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione reflects on the new Ministry of Magic slogan. And some Ron/Hermione too ('ω')

Hermione sincerely despised whomever it was that designed the new slogan for the Ministry of Magic. 

Magic was might - what an utterly arrogant and ignorant statement! The blind pridefulness of sweeping aside everything except magic, coveting magic to a point of madness - Hermione would almost pity those fools, if she had any pity left to spare.

As it was all her pity was directed to the people shuffling around her. The prey were easy to differentiate from the hunters - the Death Eaters were the one strutting around with triumphant smirks, assured of their own security because of their blood, and the muggle-borns and half-bloods and blood traitors walked with their heads bowed, their faces haggard and strained. Perhaps their family was under supervision. Or perhaps their wives or their parents or their uncles and aunts were under trial. Perhaps they were wondering if the next second they themselves would be accused of some crime or another...

Hermione could feel rage rise in her. The world was unfair, she of all people could understand that - but this was too much. This injustice, discrimination, cruelty, displayed in broad daylight for the world to see - was this the society Hermione belonged to?

Magic was not might! Might was so much more than that. Might was in kindness and generosity and valor and honour. True might was in the heart and soul.

True might was someone like Ron Weasley. 

He was not particularly brilliant nor especially powerful. He had no wild ambitions and glorious plans. But he was kind-hearted and honest and brave and loyal. He was someone that could make Hermione feel warm. Like a mug of hot chocolate in a cold winter night, a joke in the middle of a busy day, a smile when everything seemed grim and hopeless. Hermione loved him and trusted him, knew that even if the entire world was against her he would stand by her and fight for her.

What Voldemort and the Death Eaters didn't understand was that people would fight to defend someone like Ron. He represented the small everyday kindness that made the world worth living in. People would die to protect him if needed. 

Hermione wanted Voldemort to know he failed - and he would fail - because he could not understand the greatness of the little people.


	5. Problem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco is in love. So is Hermione. But not with him... (T＿T)

Draco had a problem. 

He was not supposed to fall in love with anyone. He was supposed to be a cool, reserved, unattainable pureblood who would eventually marry for the sake of his family. 

And he had planned to do just that. He dimly remembered his parents planning for him to marry Pansy Parkinson when he was six. He was destined to marry a prestigious pureblood and pass on the noble blood of the Malfoys to his children. 

But then two things happened.

The first was that he did not want to marry Pansy, and Pansy did not want to marry him. They had tried - from their first to fourth year they had tried everything to spark some romance between them, tried to find a way to make a marriage between them work. But they just couldn't. Draco wondered belatedly how he was supposed to marry someone like a sister or a friend to him and perform his husbandly duties. 

But that he could still deal with. It was not an uncommon problem found in pureblood families. Their lives were so intertwined with each other's that most of the time you would marry your childhood playmate. It was a problem Draco had, at least, anticipated. 

The second problem was a girl named Hermione Granger.

She was a Gryffindor and a mudblood. She was everything that Draco was taught to despise. But Draco couldn't bring himself to hate her, somehow. 

Even when she glared at him angrily, her bushy mane of hair wild and unattractive, he still found her oddly fascinating. The sharp words she lashed at him like a whip only served to make him want to know her better. He wanted to make that girl like him.

At first it was just pride and obsession talking. But somewhere along the way it all changed. There was a strange urge to protect her, to make her his. There was a kind of possessiveness that made his blood boil when he saw her dance with Viktor Krum at the Yule Ball, when he saw Potter or Weasley walk too close to her. And a strange sadness when she ignored his taunts and mockery in the hallways, or when she gave him one of those disdainful looks that simultaneously made him feel insignificant and made him want her more.

Draco could not decipher when he started honestly pining after her. Perhaps it was in his sixth year, when all that allowed him to hold on to his sanity was the memory of her cheerful, bright smile. Or perhaps it was in his seventh year, when Draco would lie awake at night and wonder where she was, what she was doing, whether she was safe, whether she would ever forgive him for what he was and what he had done. Or perhaps it was that nightmarish day in Malfoy Manor when she was captured and tortured. He could still hear her scream...

He sometimes wondered if she would have loved him just a little, had he defended her that day.

Pansy was watching him out of the corner of her eye as he stared down at the wedding invitation in his hands. 'Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger', it wrote in bold letters of red and gold. Draco had expected it, but he was still not prepared when it came.

'Draco?' Pansy said tentatively. 'Will you be alright?'

'Oh, I'll be fine,' he lied.

Pansy saw right through him. She stood up from her seat by the fireplace and walked hesitantly towards him, enveloping him in a warm hug.

'Draco,' she sighed sadly. He buried his head in her shoulder and inhaled her familiar spicy scent.

'Don't leave me, Pansy,' he pleaded. He resisted the urge to say 'don't leave me too'. She patted his head clumsily in reply.

After a long moment he pulled away gently. Pansy searched his face anxiously, no doubt looking for traces of tears.

Draco gave her a small smile. 'Oh, I'll be fine,' he lied again.


	6. Peer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blaise could not understand why Granger chose Weasley, of all people, over Draco. Not that he wasn't grateful for it, of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I admit this is not really that related to the prompt. But I wanted to write this, so nvm xD

Blaise had seen many beautiful or handsome people. His mother, after all, was a renowned beauty, and he knew himself to be far above average when it came to looks. And, of course, attractive men AND women were always fluttering around them, trying to win their love (and their money). So he was never really impressed by people who merely looked nice. 

Draco Malfoy looked nice. Very nice. With his silvery blonde hair, stormy grey eyes and slim, tall stature, he looked positively like a god. It was a wonder more girls didn't fight for his attention. Blaise suspected it was because of Harry Potter - even though the Gryffindor had a mop of disgustingly messy hair, was as short as a dwarf and was positively hideous, Blaise thought, people would still choose him over Draco (or Blaise) simply because he was the Boy Who Lived. People were so predictable sometimes.

As it was, Blaise himself had never felt a sliver of attraction to the blonde boy. Oh, alright, maybe a sliver - Draco was very beautiful, after all, and he wouldn't be human if he didn't want Draco a little but - but it was nothing really serious. Just a fleeting urge to maybe sleep with him some time - As Blaise said, nothing serious or special.

Until that day in their sixth year.

Draco had been strangely quiet for the whole year. Blaise couldn't care less, at first, because he and Draco weren't really friends or anything. They were comrades, at most, or acquaintances. So while Pansy prattled on and on with a worried expression that Draco wasn't himself and had something on his mind and that they should help him - Blaise only ignored the boy. Everybody had their own problems, he remembered thinking. Let Draco deal with his. 

He didn't pay much attention to the size of the bags under the blonde's eyes, or the near greyness of his already pale skin, or the way his clothes were now hanging off his body. So he was reasonably surprised when he caught the boy sobbing one day.

He remembered it was some time after Draco was admitted to the hospital wing. It was entirely an accident. He was about to walk into the Transfiguration classroom when he realized he had forgotten his textbook. He had hurried back towards the dormitory to fetch it, and when he arrived outside the closed door he distinctly heard someone crying inside.

He was curious. It sounded like a boy, but what boy - hell, what Slytherin would ever cry? Slytherins were not supposed to feel any sort of pathetic emotions, and if they did they bottled it up and hid it under a facade of arrogance. It was the Slytherin way. No respectable sixth year would ever, ever, ever do anything as stupid as showing weakness if he didn't want to be torn apart by a nest of venomous snakes. 

Draco would be so pleased when I tell him who's been crying like a baby, Blaise thought gleefully. One more person to torment and mock.

He murmured 'alohomora' under his breath (because Blaise refused to believe even a Hufflepuff would be stupid enough not to lock their door when they were crying their eyes out inside) and pushed the door open quietly, peering inside. And stopped in his tracks, his eyes bulging, his mouth hanging open.

Because it was Draco Malfoy who was crying. 

Draco, the leader of the House of Snakes. The Ice King. The arch-enemy of Harry Potter. The heir of the Malfoys. He was hiding in his dormitory, crying.

It took Blaise a full ten seconds to fully digest what he was seeing. Draco, similarly, had frozen when Blaise came in, too shocked or scared to make a move.

Draco, after a while, apparently recovered a bit of his self-control. He stood abruptly up from the bed on which he was sitting, attempted to put a fierce look in his red-rimmed eyes, and pulled his wand out, pointing it at Blaise menacingly. 'If any word of this comes out, Zabini, any word -'

Blaise didn't know what made him do what he did. Perhaps it was the strange patheticness of the boy attempting the put up a brave facade with swollen eyes and a red nose that made even the usually cold-hearted Slytherin feel sorry for him.

Blaise stepped forwards and said in an uncharacteristically gentle voice, 'Draco. It's alright.'

The blonde wavered, not expecting such a kind response to his tears. Had he ever been comforted? Blaise wondered. He thought not. Narcissa loved her son, but she was not an overly emotional type. Lucius probably discouraged any sign of weakness from his heir. Draco had no one to go to except Pansy, probably...

So he should not be too stunned when in the face of a rare kindness Draco broke down completely. 

He found himslef holding the boy and rocking him slightly, making the crooning voices he heard his mother use on him when he was a child. Draco sobbed on his shoulder, his tears dampening Blaise's shirt. Blaise didn't mind, though.

A few minutes later Drcao had quieted down, but made no move to remove his head from its comfortable position. Blaise didn't either. 'McGonagall won't be too pleased we skipped her lesson,' he remarked nonchalantly. He didn't ask why the blonde was crying. If Draco wanted to tell him he would.

Draco snorted. 'Like I care. Stupid old hag.' His voice was slightly thick, but even and reasonably calm. 

Blaise raised an eyebrow. 'You will care when she assigns us detention for a week,' he told the blonde. Draco laughed reluctantly. 

Blaise found that he quite liked Draco's laugh.

And from that day on something changed. Maybe it was just friendship at first, a sort of unspoken camaraderie and slightly unwilling trust. But then Blaise started feeling more, wanting more. He started - caring for Draco. He had no idea why - was there a reason for love? Maybe it was because seeing Draco as a flesh-and-blood person who could feel and cry and laugh was - refreshing and fascinating. Maybe it was simply because now that he actually started paying attention to the blonde he could see what he missed for the past five years.

Blaise had seen enough of this happen to men around his mother to recognize what it was. And he had enough knowledge of the subject to know that it was no use denying his feelings. Besides, Blaise didn't want to deny his feelings. He quite enjoyed falling in love with Draco Malfoy.

Draco loved Hermione Granger, Blaise knew that. And it made him feel jealous, yes, and left a bitter taste in his mouth. But Blaise loved a chllenge. He welcomed it. If he couldn't prove to Draco that he was better than a Gryffindor he didn't deserve Drcao's love.

There had never been a man or a woman that Blaise couldn't catch when he put his heart into it. Draco was as good as his now. Whatever it took to secure the blonde's love, he would do it.

Whatever it took.


	7. Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gellert Grindelwaldhad wanted Albus Dumbledore. So he was going to get him.

An owl was pecking at his window again.

Gellert had to smile. Dear, silly little Albus. Always so eager to spend time with him, but too shy to ask for his time face-to-face. He opened the window to let the creature in. Sure enough, if was Albus asking whether he could come to Gellert's house to talk about one thing or another. The most brilliant student Hogwarts school had ever had, and he asked his crush out by sending letters to him. Even though they lived, like, one house apart. 

Not that Albus would ever acknowledge he was asking Gellert out. The English, Gellert thought, were very quaint. So reserved about everything, and ashamed of things that are natural and common. Like being a homosexual. Gellert could not for the life of him figure out what the big deal was about loving someone of the same sex.

Albus cared very much about it, though. Gellert had never directly asked Albus about his sexuality, or attempted to talk about it, but he could observe very well. There was an uneasiness and strange guilt in Albus' eyes whenever Gellert spoke of something related to homosexuality. Even if it were something like 'I think my cat might be gay - he has lived for four years surrounded by a pack of female cats but none of the felines are pregnant'. It was like Albus automatically went on high alert whenever the word 'gay' was mentioned. 

But Gellert was not so easily deterred. He was going to make Albus fall so deeply in love with him he could not rest until he confessed it. And when he confessed - Gellert would accept.

Gellert could feel the half-smile curl around his lips at the mere thought of the sweet prize awaiting him. 

He had wanted Albus ever since he laid eyes on him. A tall boy with russet hair, slightly lanky, but still unfairly adorable despite the awkwardness of youth. And those blue eyes - God, Gellert could spend hours gazing with fascination into them. They were like magnets, pulling Gellert in with a kind of guileless seductiveness. And Albus had no idea how pretty he was at all! 

He supposed it was queer that he fell in love with someone so obviously light. Gellert, after all, aspired to be a Dark Lord, while Albus aspired to be everything a Dark Lord should hate and despise. Goodness, justice, love, all those rubbish that Gellert had no patience for. 

(Well, maybe he did have some patience for love, especially after meeting his cute little love, but that was beside the point.)

As it was, Gellert loved Albus. He dimly recalled someone describing light and darkness as forever chasing after each other in longing and love but forever unable to meet - something poetic like that. Gellert did not like it much. If he could, he would rewrite the ending of the story like this - but darkness was determined that he shall have light, so he chased and chased until finally he caught up with the unattainable and made light his. 

If it only was so easy in reality!

In reality Albus could run so fast Gellert would be left staring forlornly at his dust (figuratively only, of course; Albus was horrible at sports). He shied away like a nervous unicorn whenver Gellert tried to approach him in a way remotely non-platonic. Gellert would walk towards him with his hips swaying and his eyes half-hooded, gazing beneath hid lashes at Albus with a smile, and Albus would turn bright red, turn around and bolt without a single word. Gellert would lay a flirtatious hand on his cheek, his waist or his thigh, and Albus would jump away as if struck by lightning and flee. Gellert would murmur 'my darling' or 'sweetheart' or 'dearest' in a sultry tone, and Albus would gape at him in something like fear or alarm and then run away.

Enough was enough! Gellert had had enough of this foolishness. He could no longer allow his lion to run from him. Gellert was inevitable. Albus should know that. 

'You know, my darling,' Gellert drawled when Albus arrived, careful to keep a firm grip on Albus' forearm lest he fled again, 'for a Gryffindor, you are really quite cowardly.'

Albus seemed torn between alarm at being called Gellert's darling and outrage at being called a coward. 'Gellert, really -' he spluttered, pink spots appearing on pale cheeks, 'how could you say something like that - what do you mean? Cowardly?'

'Don't worry, mon cher, I do not mind,' Gellert told him with a wicked smirk. He grabbed Albus' other forearm and leant forwards. The redhead, truly alarmed now, struggled and tried to break away, but Gellert was much stronger. He crowded into the slightly shorter boy. 'You see, although you are a coward you are my coward,' he explained. And then, when Albus was still wide-eyed with shock and embarrassment and confusion, he leant in and kissed the boy lightly on the lips.

A brief brush, far too brief - but the sweetness and innocence of what he tasted almost made him swoon. He wanted more... So much more...

Albus, though, seemed as though he was really going to swoon. The boy gasped audibly and trembled in his arms after the kiss (which could not really be called a kiss, by Gellert's standards) and let out a distressed sound. 'Gellert - what do you think you are doing!' he whispered, his face alternately pale and flushed scarlet.

Albus could deny all he wanted, but Gellert could see the desire and longing in his eyes, ravenous and hungry for Gellert's love.

And so Gellert, instead of replying, leant in to kiss him again. 

A real kiss this time, with tongue and teeth clashing, passionate and wild - on Gellert's side, at least. Albus just stood there, his arms clutching Gellert's almost helplessly, letting out little moans and gasps of pleasure and distress, letting Gellert ravage his mouth. And ravage it Gellert did - the boy tasted exquisite. He licked at every corner of that delectable mouth, exploring it thoroughly, and sucked at swollen cherry lips fiercely. And then he pushed down the collar of Albus' shirt and bit that long, white neck, sucking on the creamy skin and leaving a trail of marks all the way from the jaw to the collarbone. Mine, he thought wildly. He could hear Albus moaning, completely without inhibition now, all reservations thrown to the wind. The soft, melodic sounds made Gellert harden further. 

It would have gone further if some damned idiot had not chosen that moment to knock on Gellert's door.

The moment was broken immediately. Albus jumped up in alarm from where he was lying on Gellert's desk (Gellert probably pushed him down on it some time, he couldn't remember), pushing Gellert away and pulling his collar up to cover the lovebites. He hurried towards the door and didn't even glance at whoever was outside before running away.

It did not matter, though. Albus did love him and desire him, Gellert was sure of that now. A victorious smile made its way onto his face. Albus would not be running away from him next time, nor any time. He would make sure of it. And someday Albus would run after him, begging to be kissed and ravaged and taken. 

Albus was his now.


End file.
